


The Tale of Vinegar Tom

by BelivetAndAird (rcks)



Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: F/M, I really hate tagging this as a Spellwood fic, It's not reaaaaaaaally but it serves the plot well, Madam Spellman - Freeform, Spellwell - Freeform, When it’s really a madam spellman and spellwell fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-26
Updated: 2019-08-13
Packaged: 2020-07-20 09:18:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19989733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rcks/pseuds/BelivetAndAird
Summary: This is the story of the mysterious Vinegar Tom... a spin-off from The Present from Lilith.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this is kind of a spin off of my other fic The Present from Lilith. I got distracted and have been sitting on a backstory for Vinegar Tom for quite a while and I just thought why not just post it since I wrote it? ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ 
> 
> I know this first chapter is v short, but be patient, I’ll update next week! Also I didn’t have time to edit before posting, sorry if wording is awkward~

Nearly three weeks had gone by since Zelda had left the Spellman residence. It was unlike her to leave without identifying her whereabouts. As a young witch, she was known for her adventurous nature and frequent travels—over the centuries, this element of her hardly faded away. It was not uncommon for Zelda to decide to partake in last minute travels to collect art, visit friends or attend international witchcraft conferences and festivals. Each excursion promised the absence of both Zelda and her familiar, Vinegar Tom. Without fail, Zelda would leave a note instructing her family where to write and how to find her. 

Recent months proved otherwise, the witch began by disappearing for days at a time with Vinegar Tom in tow, at first. But as time went by, Zelda behaved unusually and began leaving without the company of her familiar. Often, Zelda would return from these trips soured and spent—and Tom, the wiser, clung to Zelda the moment she would arrive. 

Hilda noted that Zelda was spending more and more time away from the Spellman household without her familiar and began to worry. Tom looked utterly miserable and was a nervous wreck every instant Zelda was absent. He knew something was wrong surely, but Hilda did not want to pry into Zelda’s affairs. For all she knew, it was an exciting new affair that was too turbulent for Zelda to want Tom around?

And how she didn’t know how true this was in its own twisted way. 

It was only when Zelda would return with blood on her clothes and skin littered in bruises, welts and cuts that Hilda knew something was terribly wrong. Often, Zelda made an effort in returning in the middle of the night, to avoid confrontation with her brother, Edward, the matriarch of the family. And for the most part, she managed to avoid him—keen on the “early to bed, early to rise” motto, she never encountered him on her returns. Hilda, on the other hand, was a night owl just as her sister was. It wasn’t hard to miss Zelda’s sudden reappearance in their shared bedroom, her efforts to tiptoe around the creaky floorboards so as not to wake anyone was lost of Hilda—who usually spent her nights downstairs knitting silky webs her familiars spun into soft kerchiefs. Hilda watched from the dark as her sister sneaked downstairs and into the kitchen to gather salves to begin treatment on fresh wounds. 

The first few times, Hilda silently sat in her chair in the parlor, watching curiously as Zelda treated small scrapes and bruises. It wasn’t long until these wounds escalated dramatically. Zelda would hoist her robe every which way, slathering salves and ointments on cuts that grew larger as time progressed. And still, Hilda stayed silent as ever—intrigued and worried at the sight before her, night after night. All the while, Zelda was never aware that her younger sister bore witness to her nightly routines. 


	2. Chapter 2

“This is love...”

_ Crack _ .

“Your precious lovers of the past were weak.”

_ Crack _ . 

* * *

It was a quiet evening in the Spellman household. The Church of Night kept Edward most nights and left Hilda alone to tend to her night garden and slave over the laborious task of potion brewing. She had taken to cooking and stocking up on various salves as of late, and the questionable state of her sister’s skin launched a whole new fire within Hilda. She intended to make new salves tonight, to slip onto Zelda’s boudoir once she arrived, whenever that might be. She was gone again—longer than before. It seemed that Zelda had only just returned, only to slip away not long after her wounds had scabbed over. Hilda tried her hardest not to get caught staring when Zelda undressed before her; the purpling bruises against milky white stood out angrily, the raw flesh on her back caught on her blouse incessantly—staining the fabric and forcing Zelda to retreat to their bedroom at any given point in the day in search of a fresh blouse. The issue with Zelda’s self-assurance was that it blinded her to such an extent that she did not realize that her nonchalance could not conceal what she so desperately wanted to keep from her family. 

Hilda wiped at her furrowed brow, attempting to locate a pertinent ingredient for the healing salve among the sea of bottles, vials, jars—ah… a spider plucked a few leaves from a jar and continued down toward the mortar and pestle. Healing magics were Hilda’s forte and had been quite adept at a young age; potions were left to Zelda, who adored meticulous measurements and precise recipes. Though, it all chalked up to a joint effort—a team, counting the participance of their ever-present familiars. 

Padded feet and a soft jingle approached. 

Dear Vinny T was her right-hand man in harvesting elements from the garden, the beagle took great care in the garden. His duty was to gather and carry what the spiders could not. Communication was never an issue when Zelda wasn’t present to speak for him—familiars spoke amongst themselves, and the spiders and he worked wonderfully in interacting with the Spellman sisters respectively. A curious feat with familiars was the ability to communicate amongst themselves as well as to their witch or warlock without articulating audible sounds. Witches and warlocks may also communicate with their familiars, and their familiars only, via mental projection. However, when speaking to others, one must employ their familiars to interpret—and vise-versa. 

Vinegar Tom silently dropped a bouquet of weeds at Hilda’s feet, nudged her with his nose and turned silently, padding off to the kitchen to plop himself atop a rather worn-out rug. Today, the group of spiders hardly spoke for Tom—whose sulky manner infected the atmosphere. Hilda looked quizzically at the apparent leader of the spiders, Jerry, an equally jovial individual. 

_ Tom’s awfully mute today, Jerry _ . 

Jerry did not yield in his actions and ignored Hilda’s remark.

_ Jerry.  _

Jerry carried on with his back and forth between a stack of leaves and mortar, systematically adding ingredients to the salve. 

_ Jerry. Don’t make me add spider legs to the recipe, answer me. What’s going on?  _ Hilda jerked her head toward Tom, who was now a brooding puddle on the floor.  _ Surely you must know, you see everything—I know you do. There’s something off with Zelda, isn’t there? _

_ Yes, but he won’t let me past his barrier, Hilds. I’m not certain, but something is going on and it’s affecting Tom in a detrimental way. You understand that Tom and Zelda have a very rare bond, don’t you? _

_ I don’t quite follow? _

_ Look closer. Vinny is in pain, he’s concealing it. _

She halted her systematic grinding against her mortar and lifted her gaze past the windows of the kitchen towards the spot where Tom usually rested in the kitchen. His face crumpled and reflected his efforts in regaining composure. Upon closer examination, the dog’s eyes were shut tight, his body trembled...after a few minutes, the trembles escalated to violent shudders as if he were experiencing an electric shock every so often—clearly overcome with tremors after each wave. It was a strange sight, it appeared that Tom was under great agony. 

“What in Satan’s name is going on?!” Hilda rushed over to Tom and scooped him up. He was so focused on the pain that he hardly took notice of Hilda’s actions. The blows were too much for his body to handle, he whimpered and groaned as Hilda rushed over to the dinner table, swatting and swiping at the contents to clear a place to set him down. He now began to convulse, seizures wracking his body. Hilda hovered her now trembling her palms over his writhing body--navigating her magic in and throughout his body. She had never seen him in such a state, frankly it frightened her. First, she calmed him, rendering him still enough to locate the trauma in his brain and began undoing whatever caused it. It seemed to take an eternity, his body thrashing against the magic all the while, until finally he lay limp.

* * *

Zelda couldn’t resist the power Faustus Blackwood had over her. The lust she felt when she heard his bullwhip crack against dainty flesh of her back, causing it to rip and shred. Their trysts took place in his office at the Academy, where Faustus had just recently been presented with the opportunity to become Junior Counsel member, a prominent job that promised further power and success--a step toward becoming High Priest.

“This is love,” he would tell her. “Your precious lovers of the past were weak.”

_ Crack _ .

“You were meant to be dominated, Zelda Spellman. You are deserving of punishment.”

_ Crack _ . A sharp intake of breath. Zelda was gushing at the sound of Faustus’ words, the more demeaning, the better. For it was her punishment, and well-deserved at that.

“I--” 

“Did I  _ say _ you may speak!?”

_ Crack.  _ Zelda’s head jerked backward, the hand of her lover planted firmly on her neck pulling her back relentlessly until her head rested against him--her eyes aligning with his own as he towered above her. He leaned down and made to kiss her, brushing his lips against her own. Just as Zelda surged upward with want, he pulled back and swiftly slapped her face--causing her body to crash into the hardwood floor.

  
She didn’t know how or when he teleported her, but she was no longer in Faustus’ office. Instead, she lay on the floor of her own room. The moments between Faustus and her ranged from fleeting to exhaustingly drawn-out, in most cases, she would find herself teleported into a cage in an unknown dungeon filled with curious contraptions that bordered on torturous. Faustus was a man that got off on pain and torture, that much she knew. This piqued her interest, arousing a deep desire within her, she pursued Faustus in search of domination...something that she was beginning to regret. The treatment was rough, yet intimate and consensual when they began their affair but morphed into something ugly, unwanted. Though, she couldn’t stop it--she  _ enjoyed  _ it, in her own sick way. It was different from anything she’d ever experienced before, it became her addiction. Zelda did admit that it was becoming too much as Faustus had taken to keeping her locked in a cage enchanted with a spell that disabled the use of magic to escape and bound her to him- after all, her discomfort was her pleasure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanna say I do nooooot support Spellwood in the slightest (I just can’t get behind abuse relationships) but this fic serves as a backstory to my other one titled The Present from Lilith. Though this fic will focus more on the life of Vinegar Tom...


End file.
